


Silk Gloves, Sullied Hands

by WadaFics



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Degrading kink, Fantasizing, Glove Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sexual Pining, ferdibert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WadaFics/pseuds/WadaFics
Summary: Upon visiting their classroom, Ferdinand stumbles upon a pair of forgotten gloves that Hubert had left. Making a terrible decision, he takes the gloves with him back to his dorm. As night closes in, Ferdinand finds himself pulling out the gloves. Closing his eyes, he imagines the owner to be touching him as he slips the gloves upon his wandering hands.(AKA: Ferdinand masturbates with Hubert's gloves and fantasizes about him touching and mocking him.)[Written for FE3H Wank Week Days' 2 & 3 Prompts: Fantasizing & Guilt]
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136





	Silk Gloves, Sullied Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here is a fic I worked hard to put together, since I did not hear about this week until it literally started and showed up on my Twitter Time Line.
> 
> This is a trope that has been written probably a thousand times, so I'm sorry I'm so unoriginal. 
> 
> FerdiBert just leads itself to a glove kink. Sue Me. 
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy my utter filth of Ferdinand yearning for Hubert's touch and biting tongue.
> 
> NOTE: Lines in all italics are Ferdinand's imagination!

Ferdinand should have just returned the **damn** gloves.

When he had spotted the infamous pair of white gloves sitting upon the table where Hubert usually sat during their lectures with Byleth, he had no initial reaction. He had merely glanced upon them with indifference, figuring that the owner of said gloves would return to fetch them momentarily. Hence, he had left the classroom to head to the training grounds to work upon his form with swordsmanship. He was partial to handling lances, but he wished to broaden his horizons and further his skills with weaponry.

After all, Ferdinand had a _desire_ to be the very best that he could be. He would prove to everyone as the legitimate heir to the Aegir name that his talents were far superior than that of Edelgard. Hence, if he was able to master a large breadth of weaponry, he would be prepared for any situation with whatever was on hand. Besides, he also found some joy in the maintenance of both armor and weapons, cleaning them off until each shined with a sparkling gleam.

However, his exuberance often led to his dorm room being cluttered with various pieces of armor upon the ground for his maintenance. He was currently out of room upon his floor for more pieces, so he figured he would store a few of the pieces he was currently working on restoring in the back of their classroom. He would explain why the armor was there to the professor tomorrow morning.

Yet, as he dropped off the pieces in the far corner, his eyes can not help but to _notice_ that the pair of gloves were still sitting exactly where he had seen them a few hours prior. Hubert had not come to retrieve them. Had he not noticed? Every time he saw the man, - which was too often in his opinion - he had a spotless pair upon his hands. Even when they were tasked with stable duty together, an activity Ferdinand loved and Hubert loathed, he wore the gloves while cleaning up the paddock and tending to the horses.

No, Hubert surely **noticed**. He must have not cared enough to go looking for them. Knowing how weird Hubert was, he probably had an entire stock of the damn things in his room. The thought amuses him slightly, a cheerful smile upon his face at envisioning Hubert pulling out a pair of fresh gloves from a drawer full of pressed pairs. Quieting his small burst of laughter, he walks over and picks up the pair of gloves in his hands.

Slowly, he runs his fingers over one, letting it trace over the fabric. It was practically spotless, a shame to be lost and forgotten so easily. He brings the glove closer to his face to inspect it further. It was plain as can be; no intricate designs to be found. But Ferdinand feels _drawn_ to it. He presses the glove against his cheek, feeling the smoothness of the fabric upon his skin. He also can’t help but give a faint sniff, the scent of lingering magic wafting from the tips of the fingers.

He is unsure how to describe the smell of reason based magic. It was different from that of faith. The most prominent stench being the aroma of burning and ash. A grittiness that is unpleasant to the nose, as if singeing the insides of his nostrils with a breath of embers. Those who specialized in reason often adjusted to the scent by Hubert's age and didn’t even recognize it, unlike others around them.

And unlike Ferdinand, who found himself taking a _deeper_ inhale of the gloves, a tingling warmth vibrating down his spine.

The combination of the scent - a scent that Hubert carried upon him like a perfume - and the feathery sensation of the glove upon his skin brings him to make a **horrible** choice. He pockets the gloves, stuffing them away and heading back towards the dorms for the evening.

* * *

Once the door is locked and only a single dim candle flame illuminates the room, Ferdinand finds himself lying upon his bed, holding the gloves in his hands again. He feels a creeping _itch_ spread throughout his body, enthralling him into a state of desperation and shamelessness. The itch **digs** into him, seeping past his skin, his muscles, and through his bones.

He must **scratch**.

Pushing both of his sleeves up to his elbows, he takes a glove and slips it onto his hand carefully. He tugs upon it to get it as tight as possible before moving to pull the other onto his second hand. Once both are snug, he brings one hand onto his head, running his fingers through his hair in a gentle fashion. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in, enjoying the way it feels to have the glove touch the top of his head.

_“What is this? Preening at my touch like an imprudent mutt? As to be expected. You do share the name of Aegir with your fellow hounds…”_

The echo of Hubert's voice rings in his ears, saying words that had never been muttered to him, but so easily could have been from the scornful tongue of Hubert. He arches into his own touch, letting his thoughts divulge further into his **deplorable** imagination. Gripping harder, he gives a harsh tug on his locks while his free hand quickly moves to push his shirt up to scrunch under his arms in a wrinkled fashion.

His fingers drag across his skin, running up his torso to graze over his chest with the sleek touch of the gloves, roaming until settling upon one of his nipples. In a circular motion, he rubs at it delicately as his voice grows slightly breathier. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on the softness of the fabric while he pinches and twists at his own nipples. A tender moan slips from his lips, only spurred on as his mind grows even filthier.

_“Keep your voice down. It would be disastrous if someone were to stumble upon me stooping so low to sully my hands on such a tramp.”_

A wicked snicker follows after in his head, and Ferdinand finds himself squirming upon his mattress. He gives one last pull upon his disheveled hair before moving both hands to squeeze at his bosom, pulling and prodding at his hardened nipple. His voice quivers at each brush of the silky gloves upon his chest. The _thumping_ of his heart starts to grow quicker, which can be felt as he pleasures himself by tweaking his nipples until they begin to grow **red** from abuse.

Fidgeting, he feels the constraint of his trousers upon his stiffening cock, pressing against him in a restrictive manner. He stares down, eyeing the bulge and feeling the guilt within his gut start to grow wider, overflowing his senses as he reaches to unbutton the top of his pants. Pulling the zipper down gradually, he heaves a tiny sigh of relief as he tugs his pants down to his knees and lets them sit bundled up upon his thighs.

Straining against his smallclothes, he is _disgraced_ further as he notices a wet spot upon the cotton. Had he been stimulated so far to leak from but a few meager touches upon his breasts? While the area was sensitive, he had never had such a profound reaction in previous personal excursions of pleasure. Part of him wants to play **dumb** and ignore the glaring reasoning behind why he was having such an extreme reaction tonight, but he knew there was no hiding from the truth of the matter.

“F-Forgive me, **Goddess** \--” He whispers to the air, abruptly pulling his undergarments down and allowing his arousal to stand at attention. He reaches with his right hand, gripping onto his cock and groaning at the _velvet_ sensation of the glove upon his throbbing length. He can not keep from trembling as his mind sinks further into the pit of sickening fantasies.

_“Disgusting. Only someone as lewd as you would become aroused from someone who despises you.”_

Ferdinand shuts his eyes, letting his mind bask in the humiliating scene. He can suddenly feel Hubert’s hand upon his cock, glove still on as he refused to directly touch someone as **inferior** as Ferdinand directly. He squeezes gently, steadily pumping his hand around the shaft and letting it glide with delectable friction from the _luxurious_ contact with his gloves. The touch receives choked out moans from the hoarse throat of Ferdinand.

As the hand begins to pick up in speed, Ferdinand jerks his hips into the quickening strokes with a fervor. His volume rises an octave, filling the stuffy room with exasperated puffs of air and wanton whimpers. He knows that he tarnishes the Aegir name as he brings his left hand down to fondle his balls, wishing uselessly that these gloves were upon their proper owner while they clutch at his sack.

_“Whore.” Hubert smirks at him, his eyes piercing into his soul with their acidic shade of green. “Do you wish for more? To have your cheap hole stretched upon my cock? Beg for it.”_

Ferdinand nods his head eagerly in the empty room, his body having been engulfed in the flames of lust. There was no turning back now, only further indignation to be bestowed upon him. Bringing his hands to a halt, he opens his eyes and feels a pit in his stomach as reality begins to settle into his consciousness.

What was he doing?

Craving the _attention_ of one who constantly **belittled** and **argued** with him daily.

Was he a complete **moron** , as Hubert liked to accuse him of being frequently?

Yet, he finds himself scurrying to his bedside stand, opening the bottom drawer and fetching a bottle of oil that was nearly empty. This was not his first night falling victim to such profane delusions. Gripping onto it, he kicks off his pants and leaves himself bare below the waist, minus the socks at his feet.

He pulls himself back upon the bed, spreading his legs wide as he pulls off the top from the vial of oil. He ponders for a moment if he was truly willing to go so far. His body _screams_ back at him that he is obscene enough to go through with this next bit.

 _“You do not deserve my cock.” Hubert ridicules him, letting the oil drip onto his gloved fingers and coat them in thick globules. “I do not know how many you have serviced with your sleazy rear. You will cum from my fingers alone._ ”

A finger circles around the rim of his hole, slicking it with the cool oil. He continues to do so, finding it strange as he pushes the tip of one finger inside and experimentally pumps it back and forth. He left hand sets back on his weeping cock, stroking himself in tandem to help ease the process of fingering himself.

As the silky finger presses further inside, his moans become **guttural**. He is growing looser, the fabric of the glove causing him to shiver in ecstasy as it slides all the way to the knuckle each time it pushes into his ass. Never had he imagined himself finding pleasure from a forgotten pair of gloves, but now, it was bringing closer to the edge of release.

_“Another?” Hubert mocks him with a growl, pulling back his finger to add a second beside it and pressing forward to stretch past the rim again. “If I had known all it took was a few touches to cease your ignorant yapping, I would have done so ages ago.”_

His face is drenched in sweat, a scarlet blush burning across his cheeks as his fingers push in deeper than before. He wiggles them around, ashamed of the _vile_ , _wet_ sounds the oil makes each time he pumps the fingers. It was the only sound beside his labored breathing and the occasional squeak of the bed from his wriggling. The hand around his cock grows quicker to match with the increasing force of the fingers pounding into his ass.

Ferdinand knows he is nearing his limit, his body overstimulated from the friction of his gloves and the way Hubert spoke to him in his head. However, he hears the sound of footsteps incoming from the hall and feels his heart **stop** for a brief moment. He listens to try and decipher who was coming back at such a late hour.

His eyes shoot open when he hears the unmistakable voice of _Hubert_ coming from the hallway. There is someone with him, but he does not give a **damn** who it is. His entire body reacts to the sound of his voice in real time, even if he can’t comprehend a single world he is saying.

Fingers sinking deep inside of his ass and hand sloppily rubbing at his cock, he finds himself teetering over that edge as he lets the incomprehensible sound of Hubert’s voice lead him to a _sinful_ climax. His voice gets caught in his throat, a strangled sound dragging its way from his mouth as he writhes upon his fingers and cums into the gloved hand upon his cock.

He milks himself, _dirtying_ the poor glove with his seed as it spills and runs over his hand in short little spurts. His chest heaves, body arching upwards from the bed as he feels the crashing waves of his orgasm **drowning** him in a momentary paradise of passion.

“..H-Hubert…” Ferdinand whines, glancing down with lidded eyes as he loosen his hand from his softening cock. He gradually removes his fingers as well, body feeling far overexerted from the intensity of such a blissful, submissive space. Mind reeling back into reality, he feels the cold air against his bare skin and shivers.

Guiltily, he pulls off the oiled glove. Then, he removes the cum stained one from his other hand. He stares intently upon both, which were incredibly _soiled_ from his lecherous body. As his eyes narrow upon the sullied gloves, he hears Hubert mumble a small “goodnight” before the sound of a door clicks shut.

Taking the oiled glove, he uses a part of the fabric that had not been **tainted** to press once more upon his cheek. It is a weak, soft caress that he clings to while his eyes crease with a looming sense of regret and loneliness.

_"Goodnight, Ferdinand…” Hubert mumbles, his voice muffled as he caresses his cheek one last time before tossing the gloves onto the floor._

Ferdinand bites his lip, letting the image of Hubert fade from his brain as fatigue settles into his body and soul.

“...Goodnight.” He murmurs, to _no one._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading!!!  
> If you enjoyed, I would highly appreciate your comments/kudos! It help to keep me from getting discouraged from sharing content.  
> Ahhh, this is just so self indulgent, so I hope at least one person likes my dumb, cliche idea. Once again, it is a trope, but I fucking love this trope, and I will die with it. 
> 
> As always, please hang out and chat with me on Twitter @MahouMiss !!!!


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